


because you're the ocean, and i'm good at drowning

by the_black_apple



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen, this is basically going to be a drabble series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 13:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2112531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_black_apple/pseuds/the_black_apple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's six when he first sees her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	because you're the ocean, and i'm good at drowning

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: be warned, i'm slow with updates.

He's six when he first sees her. Perched precariously atop the safety railing that surrounds the bumper cars, he has a prime view of the picnic tables and concession stands in the center of the fair grounds. His mother has gone to get them all drinks and left him with Miranda and Stiles, her best friend and his. He can hear Stiles nearby, the pale boy rejecting his mother's attempts to apply more sunscreen to his face, a thick layer already coating his nose.

The girl is sitting at a table by herself, furiously licking an ice cream cone as three white balls melt into each other before dripping down her hand. A heat wave has swallowed Beacon Hills. He can see from here that her nose is pink and shiny, sunburnt. Cinnamon curls are piled on top of her head and they glow bronze in the sunlight. She smiles to herself as she eats (delighted at the mess she's making) and her cheeks dimple. He digs a sandaled heel into the railing beneath his feet and launches himself forward, landing firmly in the grass below.

He can tell by the sudden angle of her head that his movement has not gone unnoticed. She's still licking her ice cream as she watches him stride toward her, her eyes hidden behind the heart-shaped lenses of white sunglasses. Abandoning the shade provided by the attraction's yawning and stepping out into the too-bright sunlight, he has to force his eyes not to squinch closed when a warm breeze lifts dust into his face.

He doesn't introduce himself before taking a seat on the opposite bench, the wooden planks hot beneath his legs. He tucks his feet beneath his knees and leans forward, smiling. The girl doesn't stop working on her ice cream and he can see it's smeared at the corner of her mouth. "I'm Scott." He nods his head, an affirmation, and smiles again.

The girl lowers the ice cream and sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, her top lip a raspberry bow. She's still as she watches him, her eyebrows arched into her forehead, and he tries not to fidget. Ice cream is puddled on the table, waterfalling into a gouge partially hidden by his hand and it's sticky against his skin where he presses his palm flat. Finally, she releases her lip with a wet pop and says archly, "Hello."

He sucks in a deep breath and notices that the corners of her mouth are twitching up into a smile as if he's said something funny and he finds himself feeling pleased. "What's your name?"

Her head and hand bob simultaneously to the right as she shrugs, "Allison." Ice cream sloshes off the cone and she frowns at it.

"What kind is that?" It's obviously vanilla but he can't think of anything else to say and he wants her attention back. She's still frowning down at her loss.

"Vanilla bean." Then: "You can call me 'Alli'." She's smiling at him genuinely now and the shift catches him off guard and he blinks. She falters, unsure of herself; her smile receding into something apologetic.

Reassuringly, he quickly sticks his hand out, "It's nice to meet you." It's the wrong hand, his left one with the ice cream on it, but she takes it anyway and her skin is soft. He's never held a girl's hand before. It's smaller than his, paler, and there's glitter on her nails. He thinks it's pretty. She pulls her hand back but he hangs on to it a second longer and she lets him.


End file.
